Men of Letters Daily Log- 12.25.16

0400 hours

Entrant: Charlene Bradbury

A few days turned out to be the next morning. The daily log was abandoned for a few days during the seize of the bunker. We didn't realize Spencer was infected. It must have happened during his supply run, but we'll never know. I had to shoot him in the head. I suppose the outside world is worse off- all the news reports we're hearing are of people looking for loved ones turned Croat. They're never found. Obviously.

Spencer entered the Bunker and attacked a few of our own. The warding didn't help- maybe it would have if Spencer hadn't known how to neutralize it. There's only me, Eva Murphy, Barry Campbell, Dean Johnson and Castiel left. The others have all fallen. We don't know about the others. Everything happened so fast, and we weren't able to take a body count because there aren't really any bodies. Just the Croats. They destroyed the Bunker, completely ransacked it. We couldn't risk staying. The place was like a beacon for the Croats. I should feel lucky to be alive but. . . I don't.

We abandoned the Bunker yesterday- we took as many books and artifacts as we could carry, but we have to travel light. There was so much we had to leave behind. So much lost history- centuries of it. At least we were able to take the daily logs, about 80 years' worth of them recounting the events and discoveries of the Men of Letters. Hopefully if we leave, the Croats won't be attracted to the place. We locked it down anyway to keep out scavengers, because the only thing that could make this any worse would be if some stupid muggle got their hands on ancient magic.

When we were leaving for Bobby's I saw the word "Croatoan" carved- carved- into the bunker's door. The door is metal. I don't know how they did it, but we didn't have time to stay and marvel over it. That word was a sign that we were in Croatoan territory.

There's hardly any traffic. The biggest thing slowing us down are the hulks of abandoned cars already littering the freeways. We've had to push three out of the way so we could continue with our Jeeps. The Croats are smart. They've begun setting up traps. Two cars looked as though they were in a crash, and one of them had a person wedged in it. We thought she was alive. Her legs were pinned. Johnson- Dean- went to help her. He didn't realize it was a trap until it was almost too late. She was a Croat. There were a few more hiding in the back of the car. He was almost infected by one of them. Good thing he has his little angel with him.

I don't know why I'm writing this anymore. The Bunker is gone. There are hardly any Men of Letters left. I wonder if the British faction is doing any better.

Merry Christmas, by the way.


They arrived at Bobby's in record time. It was jarring, after having been restrained to the Bunker for so long, to see how much the outside world had changed. It was only months, but it looked as though the cities and the streets had already been abandoned for years. Cas had heard some of what happened in the reports, the bombings that the military had done over some of the worst areas, but seeing is believing.

And even that was unbelievable.

There were only four men of letters left, and one shunned angel of letters. They took two jeeps, which gave them room enough to store what little food and water they had, along with the other things they were able to salvage from the bunker. Charlie, Castiel and Dean drove in one, and Barry and Eva in the other. Dean still hadn't really had a full conversation with Barry, but he knew that the kid was young, no more than 23. Another innocent casualty of his weakness.

Eva took the lead. It was infuriating how slow they had to go to avoid shredding the tires on shrapnel. Cas was a few feet behind in the jeep that Dean drove. They went quickly enough that they didn't see many croats, and those that they did see were too far off to be a threat.

They ran into little trouble. That is, until they actually reached their destination. The salvage yard had always looked abandoned, but now it looked even more so.

Especially when they approached the door that was half off its hinges. They could barely see, between the gap that the door showed into the threshold, piles of bullet casings.

As soon as Eva saw it she directed Dean and Barry to go around to the back entrance. Her and Charlie went through the other side, and Castiel went through the front. They all had their guns up, except for Castiel, who just had his angel blade. He went through the front entrance, carefully pushing the broken door, and he winced when it gave a loud protesting creak. The bullet casings scattered when he kicked them aside. He had his blade at the ready for whatever intruder attacked Bobby's place.

But apparently he didn't need it. Eva and Charlie swept through their entrance first, followed by Dean and Barry. They met up in the middle of the house.

Castiel lowered his blade upon sensing that there was no one else in the house.

"Nothing?" Eva asked. He shook his head.

"Do you think he-?"

"No," Eva said, "He left in a rush, but there are no signs of a struggle. He was in a hurry." As she spoke she walked over to the gun safe tucked in the corner of the living room. It was hanging open- it was empty. The rifle he kept in there for emergencies was gone, along with all of the ammunition.

"We'll search the house, find out where he went," she ordered, and everyone left.

"Nothing. There's nothing," Barry sighed, kicking over the flap of a rug that had been disturbed during Bobby's exodus.

"I spent 3 years of my life here and I never knew what this man was. Who he was," Dean said to no one in particular.

"You lived here?" Barry glanced up from where he was searching the bedroom.

Dean took a moment to answer. "Yeah. Foster homes- Bobby was playing a CPS agent. He was the one that bounced me around, but he took me in eventually-"

"Found something!" Charlie shouted from near the kitchen.

Dean and Barry both looked up and ran out of the room, nearly colliding with Eva when they reached the kitchen.

Charlie peeled off a green sticky note from the fridge door and read off the scrawled handwriting.

"Poughkeepsie. Camp Chitaqua, old military base. Safe. 2 days drive north. Meet me there," Charlie's voice trailed off in confusion.

"He left?"

"What the heck is poughkeepsie?" Dean asked. He held his hand out for the note and Charlie handed it to him.

"Drop everything and run," Eva said. Her hand travelled to the pistol strapped to her waist.

"We need to leave."

Just as Eva said those words, a crash sounded outside the door, followed by heavy, fumbling footsteps.

Tens of them.

"Now."

Sorry for the cliffie (I'm not). Follow for more!